


What Cannot Be Undone

by Alisonrutherford



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017), Riverdale (TV 2017) RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:52:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisonrutherford/pseuds/Alisonrutherford
Summary: “Did you sleep with her, Jug?” Betty breathes out in a trembling voice, leaning against the desk they once shared in the office of the Blue and Gold -- one of the many things that becomes a tainted memory from the moment he whispers a single syllable in response.OROne word throws her entire world into chaos.





	1. "Yes"

**Author's Note:**

> You'll hate me, and I'm ok with that. For anyone who questions Jug's characterization in this fic, i’m learning, so just bear with me. Also, I basically cherry picked what parts of canon I liked. This is my first attempt at a fic and it is without a beta, so please forgive the grammar and punctuation mistakes. Please leave me a comment if you love it, hate it, or feel any array of emotion toward it. I can be found on Tumblr @alisoncollis

 

 

 

The marrow and flesh surrounding her heart is the only thing that’s keeping it from falling directly from her chest, Betty thinks, as she sinks to the ground. The impeccable wooden slats of her bedroom floor come closer and closer, the pastel walls close in like a relentless tidal wave crashing against the surface, as a wail rips from her chest- the type of sound that a wounded animal makes when it’s in extreme distress.

 

 _This is what drowning feels_ _like_ , she decides- the utter suffocation beneath her breast, the inability to make a sound other than the sobs rippling through her throat (muted only by the tiny palm clasped over her mouth), the feeling of going deeper and deeper into darkness with no one to pull her out.  The one person that she once THOUGHT could save her is the same person that pushed her head under water.

 

\------------

 

 

 

 

**3 Hours Prior**

 

“Did you sleep with her, Jug?” Betty breathes out in a trembling voice, leaning against the desk they once shared in the office of the Blue and Gold- one of the many things that becomes a tainted memory from the moment he whispers a single syllable in response.

 

“Yes-“

 

The hurried words of apology and explanation after that are utterly lost, drifting away with the dust particles swirling in the air. The only word that echoes over and over again in every cavern of her mind, body, and soul is a resounding “ _Yes_.” _Yes. Yes. Yes._ The word is now acid in her mouth, in her brain. As a people-pleaser, she’d said it so many times it was second nature, incapable of using its negative counterpart. She’d always associated the word ‘yes’ with making people happy. Today, ironically, it stripped away every ounce of joy, of perfection, within her, insatiably eating its way through her memories with malice.

 

“Betty, look at me. Betts, baby please talk to me.” He’s never uttered the term of endearment before, so hearing it now, whispered like a benediction, is a slap in the face- a blow that sharpens her daze back to a clear picture. She doesn’t realize he’s standing right in front of her until she feels the pad of his thumb wiping tears from her cheeks.

 

“Say something, _anything_. Yell at me. Tell me you hate me, you’re disappointed in me. Just—say something.” _His eyes are bluer with tears in them_ , she thinks, as she traces his irises with her own. Crystal, like the pictures she’s seen of the deep ocean water in the Pacific (the ocean she thought maybe one day they’d travel to together, when they finally _got_ _out_ ).  The constellation of moles dusting his cheeks even seem more pronounced.  She wants to reach out and trace them— _connect them_ , like she’s done so many times before, shrouded in the darkness of his trailer. Even now, he is still the most beautiful person she’s ever seen.  But he isn’t HER person anymore.

 

Using every bit of strength in her entire body, she lifts her hands, hands filled with tiny bones made of lead, and places them delicately over the ones firmly planted on her neck. She closes her eyes, letting the salty drops that cling to her eyelashes fall, relishing the feel of his skin against hers. She wants to memorize the way his hands feel on her, etch them into her pores, burn imprints of him on her soul— brand her to him forever. She doesn’t know why she still feels tethered to him so completely but utterly broken by him simultaneously, like walking a tightrope, praying not to fall but knowing its inevitability.  

 

“I’m so so sorry, Betts. Please. Please. Please -” He whispers the word over and over against her skin as he rests his forehead gently against hers, letting their tears mingle on his fingertips “- you mean everything to me. You ARE everything to me. I made a mistake and I hate myself for it. I thought we were over. I thought you didn’t -” he chokes out the last words like it takes every bit of energy just to admit them “- want me.” She wants to say it’s ok, to rewind the last few weeks like a bad movie.  Take this reel of their relationship and toss it in a bin labeled ‘ _Not for use.’_ But she can’t walk it back, _THEY_ can’t, and all she feels is the breath of their broken promises ghosting across her face.

 

“You were my best friend, Juggie,” are the only words she manages to choke out before a sob erupts from deep inside her stomach, clawing its way from her lungs. He pulls her tightly against his chest, stroking a hand down her spine ~~\--~~ fusing them together, mingling their rapid heartbeats as he peppers kisses into her temple, her hair, any part of her he can reach. He wants to pour his love into her, let it sink through her skin, her veins, and seep its way through her heart like a salve to a wound that he caused.

 

_This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This is a bad dream.  I’m going to wake up soon. Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!_

 

“I can’t be here right now. I need to leave. I can’t be here.” Betty frantically repeats, pushing away from him and scrambling to collect her scattered books, pens, the pink notebook he’d given her with ‘B.C.’ scrawled on the front in immaculate calligraphy— another token to be splayed at the bottom of a cardboard box labeled ‘ _Jughead_ ’ along with her heart.

 

She vaguely feels his fingers grab at her beige sweater with hearts sprinkled across it, _a completely wrong_ _fashion choice for today’s turn of events_ , she thinks. _I’m living a goddamn Alanis Morisette song, isn’t it all just SO ironic._

 

“Betty, please don’t leave like this. Please -” tears streak drown his olive skin as his strangled pleas for her to stay are drowned out by the pounding heartbeat in her ears.

 

_Breathe in, breathe out. You’re ok. You’re going to be ok._

Without another word, she turns and makes her way through the doorway, passing an invisible barrier to a life without him.

 

She hears the screech of a chair being pulled across the floor and a muffled cry. Turning to chance a last look over her shoulder - his elbows lay resting on his knees, head hung low in defeat, and hands buried in tangled hair as his shoulders gently shake— grey beanie lay limp and discarded on the floor at his feet.

 

Tasting the salt on her lips, she turns and treads down the empty hallway.

 

~~\----~~

 

 

 

 

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. The misty haze of emptiness swirls around her as the world continues living despite the fact that hers has stopped entirely.  The walk home is completely unmemorable, although she does note the insignificant detail of the sun being entirely too bright, mocking her with its joyful rays.    

As Betty pads up the front steps to her suburban-nightmare cliché better known as home, she is thankful her mother is still at The Register (always there, really). Even with an entire life’s worth of practice displaying the outward façade of perfection, she can’t pretend today. Not with Alice. Not in this moment, not yet. 

The incessant vibration of the phone sitting snug in her pocket is like tiny annoying pin pricks against the fabric painting her legs. _ANSWER ME, ANSWER ME, it screams._ Betty knows as soon as she lifts the device from her pocket, a hundred apologies will flash across the screen, in every medium ~~\--~~ texts, missed calls, voicemails.  Seven letters, two words, so simple in its delivery, _I’m sorry_.  The idea that the world deems three syllables acceptable to glue together the pieces of her life is almost laughable. 

 

She closes her bedroom door with a gentle click and, with the exception of the slow thumping against her ribcage, the world falls into silence.

Every movement feels like wading through quick sand, the pressure of an invisible force pushing against her limbs as she struggles to move forward.

Five steps. That’s all it takes to tread across the plush beige rug to her bed, but it feels like an eternity, _like everything else today_.

Everything _looks_ the same as it did when she left this morning—the bed made (corners folded down _just so_ ), the tiny pillow propped against the seat in the window, _the one he accidentally kicked so many times while climbing through—No, stop._

She sits down on the wrinkle-free bedspread and stares at the reflection, red and swollen, in the vanity mirror across the room.

From an outsider’s perspective, she’s always been perfect. Perfect skin, perfect silky blonde ponytail with not a hair out of place, perfect 4.0 GPA, perfect goddamn pink sweaters, hung 1.5 inches apart in descending rainbow order, in her perfectly clean closet.  It’s a word that’s adorned her like a label dangling from the string of a beautifully wrapped present.  The string, however, has been slowly wrapping its way around her neck since early childhood.  And now it’s the noose that finally steals her breath.

She glances down at the open palms resting gently on her knees. The tiny smiles littering her skin appear to be laughing maliciously. Their blood encrusted smirks taunting.       

_This is your fault. If you weren’t so damaged, you would have been enough for him. He would have loved you enough. He would have waited for you like you waited for him._

Betty knows as the words tumble from her subconscious that they aren’t true. She’s aware how dramatically self-centered it is to completely blame her insecurities for his choices. But self-inflicted pain had always been her way, and as she stares at the blonde disaster in the glass opposite, nothing but contempt stares back.

A flash of pink flies across the room, slamming with a thud against the wall, followed by a scream so vicious Betty almost doesn’t believe it came from her own mouth. She gets up from her perch and stands above the notebook splayed wide-open on her floor, pages slightly crumpled from the blow. 

 _I started writing my love story, OUR love story in scrolly handwriting across your pages,_ she thinks _. Imagined nestling you away in a cedar chest, only to bring out in some hypothetical distant future, describing how ‘mommy and daddy fell in love’ to a little girl with bright green eyes and inky black pigtails._

Betty had never even thought about kids before. She was only sixteen for Christ’s sake, still a kid herself. However, however-

_It’s funny how losing the one thing you thought you’d always have, can make you crave the things you never considered you wanted._

Bending over, Betty picks up the notebook and turns it over in her hands. Releasing a strangled cry, she rips out page after page violently, letting the tornado of parchment whirl around her.  Scribbles of their first kiss, stolen glances, and whispered _I love yous_ float in a discarded pool at her feet.  Unable to hold any longer, her knees buckle.  Legs curling in close to her body, Betty lowers her head and lets the tears fall – surrounded by the mangled sheets of their history.

 

 

 

 

 

The buzzing from the phone laying on her pillow draws her attention. As the mattress bows slightly beneath her weight, she slides a thumb across the screen.

12 missed calls.

17 texts.

8 voicemails.

 _We’ll at least he’s persistent_.

The siren call of the tiny passive-aggressive red bubble hovering above the messages icon cannot be ignored. She clicks.

 

**Jug: Betty, please pick up**

**Jug: Please just let me know you’re ok**

**Jug: I just need to know that you’re ok**

**Jug: Bad choice of words, I know you’re not ok but SHIT. I don’t know what to do. I fucked up**

**Jug: I have to fix this. Tell me how to fix this**

**Jug: Betts…please**

**Jug: God I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I want to take it back. I want to take it ALL back. I just need to know what to do**

 

The texts are frantic. The discombobulated rambling of a man with regrets. If it wasn’t all so painful,

Betty thinks she’d find it endearing.

 

As her thumbs hover over the keyboard, the ellipses of an incoming message flashes across the screen.

 

 **Jug: I can’t lose you again. Are you at home? I’m coming over**.

 

Betty panics. Every fiber inside is screaming yes and no at the same time.

 

She doesn’t know what to say. Every word she WANTS to say gets choked somewhere between her brain and her lips.

 

She wants to tell him that she KNOWS this is her fault too, take some responsibility for this shitty situation. She knows it was HER who broke up with HIM, that she broke his heart first so what did she expect from this dangerous little game they’d been playing? Someone was bound to get hurt. That she was just as upset with herself as she was heartbroken by him.

_I lit the fuse that blew up our chance to make it_ , _but you were the match._

 

She doesn’t say any of this.

 

**Betty: Jughead, please. Just leave me alone.**

 

His response is so fast, she knows his fingers were already poised over the tempered glass.

**Jug: I love you, Betty Cooper**

 

Seeing the words in black and white are so much worse than hearing them spoken.

 

They barrel into her, a freight train colliding into a glass house, shards of debris blanketing the ground.

 

 

She’s back in his dad’s trailer. Baby pink pea coat wrapped snug around her body, blonde waves falling softly on her shoulders. A sharp intake of breath, the shuffle of his feet behind her, and the indistinct sound of a wool beanie being separated from his messy waves. Then she hears the words against her back. Words she’s felt interwoven into her bones for quite some time now. _I love you, Betty Cooper_.

 

In that moment, in a dingy trailer on the Southside, hearing the words she’d waited a lifetime for and saying them in return felt like finally coming home. For a split second the world around them stopped spinning, time stood still, and it felt like the whole universe existed just to bring them together.

 

 

Betty blinks the tears back and tries to breathe, frozen by five little words. The tight feeling between her ribs starts to contract and a shudder wracks her body.

**Betty: Apparently not enough.**

She knows it’s unfair, trying to hurt him when he’s taking all of the blame. But she wants to twist the knife, lash out—make him feel the same pain she does.   

Betty can hear her mother’s voice, nagging, from the second she presses send.

_Coopers are always pleasant and agreeable, Elizabeth, even to our own detriment._

For ONCE, she wants to be cruel. To prove to herself that she CAN be selfish. But most of all she wants to feel something other than the shards of emptiness grating her stomach. She wants to be angry at the person she loves the most but desperately needs not to.

**Jug: Betts… that’s not fair**

**Jug: We were broken up.  You broke up with me.**

And there it is—the glaring truth flashing overhead like a florescent marquee sign. The words slice through her contention, shredding her leg to stand on, as she’s forced to reach out and take a pie piece of the blame.

Red drips down her vision.  

 _You don’t think I KNOW that!!!_ She wants to yell. _I DID this too!_

**Betty: I KNOW THAT JUGHEAD! But it doesn’t change anything.**

**Jug: Betty… it just happened. I didn’t plan for it, I didn’t even really want it. I was just so mad and hurt and she was just _there_ and it happened and afterward I felt sick. I felt sick and I’ve felt sick every day since. Knowing that I hurt you…It kills me. **

She can’t listen to anymore. She wants to push her fingers into her ears and scream “la la la la” like a petulant child.

**Betty: Stop!!! Just stop!! It hurts too much right now, so just stop.**

The seconds tick by as her phone remains silent.

——

 

 

 

 

 

 

An hour later, the distinctive sound of the front door opening and then closing makes Betty open her eyes.

“Elizabeth, are you home?” Her mom’s high pitched voice floats through the surrounding space and a groan escapes her lips.

“Up here mom!” She chokes out, tasting the cotton stretching at the base of her throat.

The click clack of high heels make their way slowly up the stairs and the door creaks open.

“What on earth are you doing in bed, Elizabeth? It’s 7:30 in the evening!” She can feel her mother’s accusatory gaze pierce her back as she lays curled in the fetal position facing the opposite direction of the door.

“I’m not feeling well and I had a rough day at school, mom.” She breathes out in a shaky tone, unable to muster up the strength to lie and even worse, to tell the truth—laying at an impasse. She can’t divulge what happened for the simple reason that Alice would hate Jughead even more than she already does and despite everything, Betty still craves her mom’s approval of him. Also, in some sick cosmic irony, the tables would turn and SOMEHOW it would be her fault.

_What did you expect when you started dating a hoodlum like that, huh? All the Jones men are the same…bottom feeders who will never be good enough, who will never amount to anything.  Put here on this earth to take everything and give nothing in return.  You’re better off, Elizabeth._

She doesn’t _want_ to be better off.

“Do you want anything for dinner? I can make some chicken and broccoli or Portobello mushroom soup.” Alice queries in a classic fashion of emotional avoidance, glazing over the distraught paisley lump curled compactly on the mattress.  

“Mom-“ Betty whimpers, barely concealing the sniffs and quivering inhale.

A few seconds pass in silence, the assumption her mother left, then—

The edge of bed dips slightly and fingers delicately brush the end of her ponytail. A gentle hand loosens the tie from her blonde hair and cards through the tousled strands. Ice slowly chips away from Alice’s exterior, passing through Betty and melts a tear down her cheek. A shallow pool collects on the pillow clutched tightly between her white-knuckled fingers.

“Ok, well-“ she responds softly, “—be sure to put cucumber slices on your face tonight. It’ll help with the swelling for school Monday.”

Betty squeezes her eyes shut so tight that pain surges behind the lids, as the indentation on the bed disappears and the door closes with a click.

——

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A sharp refraction of light lands in a stripe across her eyelids, shooting them open in a startled haze. Head pounding, Betty shakes the dizzying fog from her mind and looks at the clock on her nightstand.  9:00 p.m. blinks back rapidly in a blue illumination.  The glare flickers again in a harsh intrusion of the senses as she notices its origin shining through her window. Gradually, her muscles stretch with a protesting whine as she shuffles toward the light. 

A flash of auburn appears in the glass across the way. There, Archie stands, tilting a tiny mirror back and forth in his hand.  When he sights her blonde waves, he situates the miniature piece of glass on his windowsill and holds up his cell phone, gesturing to it with his free hand. 

She plucks the Iphone from her nightstand and glances down at the mass of missed calls and texts.

**Arch: Are u ok? Jug called me pretty upset earlier and told me to check on you. He didn’t tell me what happened, just that you might need a friend right now.  I tried calling several times, but you didn’t answer**

_Damn him,_ she thinks, _goddamn him_!  _Why can’t he just be an asshole?? Hating him would make this so much easier._

**Betty: Thanks Arch. Sorry, I’ve been asleep.  I’ll be ok.  Just… might take a little while**

Archie’s face contorts in concentration as his fingers sweep out a response.

**Arch: feel like talkin about it?**

**Arch: do I need to kill him?**

She releases a watery chuckle as a string of emojis follow his last text— a boy’s face with a crown situated atop his dark hair, a knife, and a coffin.

**Betty: lol to your first point, not right now. I think I just want to be alone for a little bit.  To your second, that’s ok. We can allow him to live another day, I guess. ;-)**

**Betty: and thank you, Arch... for making me laugh. I really needed that today.**

His lips tick up slightly around the edges as he stares at the phone clutched between his fingers.

**Arch: anytime**

**Arch: and I’m always here to talk if you need me, Betty.**

A slow warmth spreads soothingly down her spine as she prays thanks to whatever deity above that offers her an iota of solace in the form of her childhood friendship.

**Betty: oh and Arch, please don’t tell V about this yet. I don’t really feel like answering a lot of questions.**

Archie lifts his right hand, palm face out, pinkie finger tucked beneath his thumb, and holds the other three fingers high in the air in salute—Scout’s honor.

Betty faintly nods with a weak smile and turns back to her soft cocoon of blankets scrunched haphazardly across her pillow-top mattress.

 

Nightfall shades the house next door as the light drifting from Archie’s room dims and then extinguishes completely.

And just like that—loneliness drapes a heavy arm roughly around her shoulders and beckons her back into the shadows.

**\------**

 

 

A crushing weight settles into her limbs again as her bare feet amble across the fuzzy beige rug.    

The bed bows beneath Betty's weight as she curls on her side and pulls the covers up to her chin. Clicking the light off, darkness envelops the bedroom. The soft glow of street light shines gently in the distance out her barely ajar window.

“I don’t know what to do, Juggie.” She whispers, almost inaudibly, to the empty room.

 The mattress dips against her back and she feels his arms wrap around her middle from behind.

“Shh, it’s ok. We’ll figure it out together, Betts. We always do.” He nuzzles his nose into her messy blonde waves and places a gentle kiss on the delicate skin below her ear.

“I can’t breathe. It hurts Jug, it hurts everywhere. I can’t brea-“ sobs wrack her body as she gasps for air.

“Calm down, baby. I’ve got you, calm down. You’re safe with me. Breathe. Just breathe. Breathe.” His warm, comforting breath flutters across her neck as the tiny hairs on her body stand on end.

“I can’t do this without you.”

“You’ll never have to. I’m yours forever, Juliet.” He whispers, trailing kisses as soft as butterfly wings down her skin.

A tear streaks down her cheek as she opens her eyes and feels his touch float away into the breeze wafting through the open window.

“I love you, Juggie,” she says, pulling the comforter tighter around her body.

Only the wind responds.


	2. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Saga Continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to post. I have been living in in-law hell for the past 2 weeks and they have FINALLY left my house. Anyway, hopefully you guys will like it. FYI the POV in this chapter switches between Betty and Jug.
> 
> Paperlesscrown was my lovely Beta for this (but mainly just for content so blame me for any spelling and grammatical errors). You can find me on Tumblr at @alisoncollis.

_One look from your eyes_

_Is what I'm dreaming of_

_Waking up by your smile_

_Is what I'm dreaming of_

 

 

Betty taps her foot impatiently against the floorboard of his truck, leg bouncing in tiny, rapid twitches.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going, Jug?”

He chances a brief glance from the road over to her and winks, lips almost imperceptibly curling around the edges. “Not even a little bit.  It’s a surprise.”

The low hum of the engine rumbles in quasi background music as his smile widens into that mischievous side grin she loves so much, making the skin around his eyes lightly crinkle and dimples sink further into the hollow of his cheeks.  With a gentle chuckle reverberating deep in his chest, he lifts their intertwined fingers to his lips, dusting kisses across her pale knuckles.

A haze of grey mist envelops them in a bubble as they travel down a gravel road toward nowhere. The air around them, thick with fog, is both suffocating and comforting simultaneously.  

“You know I’m not good with surprises Juggie.” She smiles, dragging one finger through the condensation on the passenger side window forming a heart surrounding the letters ‘J+B’ in the moisture.

“Patience, Coop.  We’ll be there soon.”

A dark curl falls across his forehead and she leans over the cracked leather bench seat, stretching to expose a sliver of skin above her jeans, to push it back from his face.  

“You’re not even going to give me a hint?’’ Betty breathes against his neck, trailing feather light kisses along his jawline.

“Mmm-“ he tilts his head to the side, eyes still on the road, and arches his neck to allow her more access, “-why Elizabeth Cooper, are you trying to _seduce_ me into giving you answers?”

He feels her lips spread into a grin against the skin below his ear, “ _Maaaybe-_ is it working?”

A shudder climbs her spine as he swerves the truck to the side of the road, flinging dust and gravel in every direction, and throws the gear shift to park.

“What are yo-“ the remaining words die on her lips as he grabs the nape of her neck and crushes his mouth in desperation against hers.  Slanting against his body, she lifts onto her knees and throws a leg over his, clenching her thighs on either side of his lap. The seam of her lips part, allowing his tongue to massage hers in the push and pull of a velvety tango.  

“You’re going to be the death of me Betty Cooper,” he breathes out heavily as they break apart, forehead resting against hers as their chests rise and fall in erratic, synchronized movements.

“I’m counting on it,” she replies with a shallow breath.

Jughead sweeps the cascading blonde waves from her shoulder then traces her newly chapped bottom lip with his forefinger. “God, it scares me how much I love you sometimes, you know that?”

Betty buries her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling a soft musk and the faint trace of soap.  Angling her face slightly against his shoulder, trying to steady her rapid pants, she catches sight of a ladybug inching its way up the sleeve of his flannel.

“Make a wish.” The words come out, barely a whisper, as Betty holds her palm out to expose a tiny spec of red and black crawling along her heart line.         

“I have everything I could ever wish for right here,” he exhales, giving her thighs a light squeeze as pink twinges the apples of her cheeks.  

“weeellll since you’re too busy delivering cheesy lines like that, _I’ll_ make a wish.”

Their eyes lock as hers slowly flutter back open.

“So what did you wish for?”

Leaning in, a breath away from his ear, she murmurs, “ _you_.”

—

Jughead lurches forward, panting uncontrollably. Beads of sweat drip down his chest, perspiration clinging desperately to his grey S t-shirt, as he drags his hands exasperatedly down his face. The navy sheets bunched around his body lay damp around his hips. In the corner of his cramped bedroom, a box fan whirls around throwing intermittent puffs of air against his face. He throws his head back against a pillow that on its _best_ day has seen better days, and pushes the sticky tendrils of hair back from his forehead.      

_FUCK!!! Fuck fuck fuck!!_

_Today is going to suck._

_—_

 

 

Betty lays in bed tracing the slow rotation of the ceiling fan blades as memory snapshots flash in succession with each pass of the oscillating blades— the feel of his fingers cupping her face as his lips press to hers, ever so gently, for the first time, _blade._ Her back slamming aggressively against his kitchen cabinets as he hastily peels off her shirt between frantic kisses, _blade._ The soft look in his eyes the split second before he says _I love you, Betty Cooper_ , _blade._ The _broken_ look in his eyes the split second of _after_ he begs her forgiveness, _blade, blade, blade._

The fan continues its slow clockwise motion as Betty blinks the sleep from her eyes and the memories from the forefront of her mind.  

\---

 

Monday mornings…

 _Ugh_.

The unmistakable weight of an anvil that is the _return to normalcy_ pressing heavily on her shoulders after a weekend cocooned in bed is… _torturous_. Even more tortuous than scrolling through endless texts and photos of them on her camera roll.  

One particular picture- of the two of them sandwiched in a booth at Pops, her head thrown back in a fit of laughter while his eyes traced the lines of her smile with the admiration of a man memorizing his love before going off to war - sits unyieldingly on her mind.

They were happy.   _We were happy,_ she thinks _. ‘Were’_ being the operative word.  

 

She shakes the lingering words away and suppresses the residual effects. She can’t stay veiled in grief forever, can’t hide away under mountains of blankets and drawn blinds like a mole person.  It’s not the pragmatic approach to life she’s carefully constructed over the last 16 years (even though it’s the only thing she WANTS to do currently). Regardless, life continues moving and so must she.

Clad in a freshly starched sweater (Peter Pan collar neatly in place) and corduroy skirt, she pulls her skin-tight ponytail perfectly in position- checking her reflection for flyaways.

_Today WILL be a good day. You’re Betty Cooper, and you’re stronger than this. You’re louder than all the noise._

—-

 

The smell of freshly ground coffee jerks Betty from her vanity chair like invisible marionette strings and beckons her silently to the kitchen.  

Alice sits, legs crossed right over left, at the dining room table, stirring her hot mug in lazy circles, as Betty makes her way to the pot of dark liquid.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” she starts with an air of detachment, perfected by years of practice.

Since their almost (semi) soothing mother/daughter moment Friday evening, Alice had returned in full force to her impenetrable ice cold exterior.

“Are you staying after school today for the Blue and Gold? I might need some help proofing this afternoon at The Register if you’re free.”   

Coffee sloshes back and forth in her pristine white mug as Betty crosses the short distance to sit opposite her mother.

“Uh, yeah I was planning on staying for a few hours to tie up some last minute details on an article before we go to press Friday, if that’s ok.” Betty skewers a cantaloupe square with her fork, giving a slight shrug in apology.  

 _Lies._ Betty knows it’s all a lie, a thinly veiled lie at that, considering how terrible a liar she is. But she can’t imagine spending any more time than is necessary in this elaborate waltz of small talk and emotional avoidance with her mother, so she’ll find something to do for a few hours.  

“Hm. That’s fine. Just make sure to be home before dinner.” Alice’s eyes narrow over the half-moon readers perched on the bridge of her nose, but doesn’t push the subject.

They sit in silence with the exception of the quiet chewing of their assorted fruit slices, until Betty notices the time flashing intermittently on the oven clock.

“I should get going. Don’t want to be late.” She clears her throat and deposits the half eaten melon in the waste bin under the counter.

“Ok. Oh and Elizabeth-“ Betty turns to look over her shoulder, one hand poised on the front door handle, as Alice attempts the smallest of olive branches, “-I hope you have a good day.”

—-

 

Sunnyside Trailer Park has always remained one of the biggest contradictions in Jughead’s life.  There is, was, and will always be nothing about a procession of singlewides overlaid with grime and dilapidation that should be labeled as ‘Sunny’ in his opinion.

The perpetual dark cloud that has affixed itself overhead the community of mass-produced tin units has shaded itself darker since Friday, he thinks.  Maybe the fat raindrops that have relentlessly fallen all weekend, turning the park’s dust clouds into mud puddles, is just a coincidence. Or maybe, it’s Mother Nature’s attempt at sympathy pain.  

Either way, he feels like he’s being cosmically mocked as he steps into the rain-dampened world outside his worn trailer.         

 

“Hey, Jug.” Archie leans against the rusted metal of his trailer, arms and ankles crossed in nonchalance, waiting, as Jughead closes the door behind him.

“Arch-” his eyes bulge slightly in surprise, head shifting left to right to see if a certain ponytail wielding blonde may be in tow, “-what are you doing here?” The words are hesitant, almost a little nervous, and he didn't realize his throat was so scratchy until he spoke.   

“Figured you might want some company to walk to school.” The redhead replies.  _Coming to check on you_ is what Jughead purports he actually means without explicitly stating those exact words.  _Because that's Archie_   _Andrews._

Jughead brushes past him, trying desperately to procrastinate having to have _this_ conversation- a conversation that has plagued his mind for nearly _three God forsaken days_.    

He's unsure  _why_ but the prospect of airing his shortcomings to Archie sits heavily on his stomach - a weight that feels solid and revolting, unbearable. Like voicing it out loud will finally admit how much of a failure he truly is. 

Tiny rain-soaked pebbles crunch underfoot as they walk down the gravel path leading out of Sunnyside, falling into step beside each other. They meander for a while in companionable silence, both afraid to slice through the dead air of their ongoing game of communication chicken.

“Sooo-” Archie starts after a moment in a slow drawl. 

“Archie, I don’t really-”

“Look man-" he interjects, pulling the straps of his backpack tighter around his shoulders, "-you know I don’t get in your business, but I’m worried about you and Betty. I know something major happened between you two. The ridiculous amount of phone calls I got from you Friday after school kind of not so subtly confirmed that. And Betty - she didn’t look good Friday when I saw her. She’s been holed up in her room all weekend. AND she already left when I went over to walk her to school this morning. It’s just not like her, dude.”

He didn’t think he could feel any worse than he did before.  The hunger pangs of guilt gnawing away at his stomach only intensified with the mere mention of her name.    

Archie shifts his weight from one foot to another as Jughead slows his steps gradually, then to a complete stop and lets out a long puff of air from deep inside his chest.

“Betty and I...broke up,“ he sighs out heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “Most likely for good this time.” 

He glances at Archie before continuing, “Without going too far into specifics, I did something-something unforgivable." He looks to the redhead seeing the confusion on his face. "I know I'm not making any sense right now, and I'm being vague, but-“ running his hands through his hair, he sighs, _god why was this so difficult_ , “-this isn’t coming out right-“ gulping roughly, he continues, “-just know that I hurt Betty-  _really, really_  bad.  And - I - this is something I can't take back. I don't blame her for not talking to me.  And if you knew what happened, I wouldn't blame you for not talking to me either.”

 _God he was such a coward, such a fucking coward. He couldn't just say the words. Why couldn't he just say the words? The thought made him sick all over again._   

"What the hell happened man?"

Jughead desperately wanted this to be over- this conversation, this situation in general -  all of it. It was just another thing in his life and the lives of those around him that he screwed up.  _He truly was his father's son._    

“She confronted me about- about what I did-“ Archie’s eyes flit back and forth across his face as the words become harder for him to articulate, “-and I told her the truth. I told her I -” Jughead releases a shuddering breath, removing his beanie briefly to run one hand through his dark waves in shame and anxiousness.

"Come on, whatever it is it can't be that bad," he cuts in. "I mean, you didn't kill anyone or -" 

"I slept with someone." The words tumble out of his mouth in such haste that they almost blend into one seamless string. They fall into silence.

"-oh."      

Jughead shoves his hands in his pockets, and looks down, boring a hole in the scuff mark on the tip of his left Converse, memorizing its imperfection. He can't even look up to see the disappointment he knows sits in the brown eyes of his best friend. 

 

A stillness fills the sticky air between them as Archie twists the strap on his backpack and Jughead stares at the wet ground below his feet. Archie finally breaks the silence, his voice so strained it's almost as if they're causing him physical pain.     

 

“It’s _Betty_ , man. Betty Cooper.  The girl that made us cupcakes for Valentine's Day growing up, the girl that brought you Pop's  _every weekend_ after your mom left, the one that _just_ helped prove your dad was innocent. The one that took  _up_ for you when no one else did! BETTY, dude. What the hell were you thinking?”

 _“_ I _KNOW_. God do I know that. Every time I think about it, it just makes me sick. You have no idea how horrible I feel about hurting her. Breaking her heart is the single biggest regret of my life. I - she deserves better than anything I could ever offer her. She deserves-”

"She deserved  _you_.  The you before all of this-" Archie spits out, anger starting to cloud his face, waving a hand in his general direction, "-this Serpent situation, and this need to be separated from our world." 

A beat passes, stagnant restraint hanging between them.

 

"Archie, I was never a  _part_ of _your_ world.  I live in a _trailer park_ on the Southside. You live in, well not. Let us not forget, I was invisible to you until six months ago - you guys didn't even  _notice_ me again until Jason Blossom was killed."

"So _that's_ what this is all about? Did you do this, what, to be vindictive or something?"

 _Wait, wait. How did they get here?_ This almost felt like something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a while, and now was the perfect opportunity to unleash it.

"What?! NO. God no. This has nothing to do with you, Archie."

 He can see the anger bubbling over in Archie's face as he clenches and unclenches the fists at his sides.

"Look-" He sighs, hoping to release some of the tension brewing between them.  It's the last thing he wants currently, to have his only other best friend hate him too, although it's what he deserves. "-I don't want to argue. I just- I'm sorry ok. I'm so fucking sorry." The last words come out choked, barely audible, as he kicks the rocks below his shoes. The apology was for Betty, but it was also for so much more.

 

The unspoken words stretch the empty space between them like power lines, live with crackling electricity. 

 

"I really want to punch you right now, you know that?"

 

"I know." Jughead doesn't look up even though he can feel Archie's gaze on his face like it's almost tangible. 

         

A heavy hand claps the cool leather on his shoulder. “Ronnie's going to kill you."

 

Sweet Pea and Fangs come into view, lingering on the school steps leading up to the large double doors in some sort of a pseudo-tussle.  

 

Archie heads inside to find Veronica, leaving him alone briefly to gather his thoughts before ascending the steps to his fellow Serpent brothers - the weight of the snake emblem on his back feeling like a thousand pounds.

\-----

 

The first day back at Riverdale High for Betty is, in a word…excruciating.  A school that, just days ago, exuded color in every crevice now seeps into a cloud of grey. The lockers, once a brilliant blue are slowly whitewashed with ashen liquid as she makes her way down the hall.  The color drains from the sea of blue and gold letterman jackets and cheerleading uniforms like some sort of reverse _Pleasantville_ (she guesses she could pass for a Reese Witherspoon-esque character), as her locker comes into view.  

The crowd of obnoxious jocks and teens gossiping about who hooked up with who at Reggie’s party Saturday night part like the Red Sea when she gets close enough reach out for the combination lock.

 

“There is a _severe_ lack of moderately open gay and willing men in this town. And an even smaller number that don’t have leather jackets draped over their shoulders.” Kevin falls back with a hard thump and an exasperated sigh against the metal beside her outstretched hand. When he catches sight of the red rimming her dull eyes, dark circles hardly concealed under a botched up attempt at cover up, he quirks an eyebrow in question.

“Um, Betty… my eternal ray of sunshine, hetero love of my life, I mean this with the love I reserve only for you, but you look like shit --“ he quickly rambles on before she has a chance to respond, “-- I mean shit for YOU, not like, for the world. You’re still way above par for the masses.”

A slight snort coupled with a chuckle escape her mouth as Betty shakes her head, blonde ponytail swishing back and forth. She loved and appreciated his no-nonsense attitude, especially in a time like this.

“Yeah well, you should see the other guy.” She breathes out, adding a wink with attempted deflection.

There’s a brief pause. Her words hanging in between them, then-

“I think I am-“

Kevin gazes over her head in the opposite direction and she turns to trace his sight line. Her stomach drops.

Flanked by a posse of two overgrown boys clad in varying shades of plaid, leather, and denim, Jughead snakes his way through the crowd of teenagers (unaware of the stifling tension slowly filling the void between their spaces).

Extremely pronounced dark circles cover the expanse of skin beneath his blue eyes. Rumpled clothes look to be haphazardly thrown on his body without regard for their appearance. Even his signature beanie is askew atop his professionally mussed waves (which also appear less buoyant than usual). He looks about as shitty as she feels (or looks too apparently, according to Kevin).

When his eyes make contact with hers he freezes.

——

 

The halls of Riverdale High feel like his own personal level of hell. Lockers rattle on either side of him, metal scraping metal, as their doors slam loudly shut. The incessant teenage mating call that is over made up girls giggling at the inane jokes of Riverdale’s resident meatheads grate on his nerves like nails screeching down a chalkboard.

_Fuck Mondays. Fuck these over-sexed teen jocks and their desperate need to get laid (Archie he can handle, but everyone else..) --_

And then he sees her, and the lockers cease to clatter.  The whirr of teenage flirtation dwindles to a hush. The world around them simply falls away. All he sees is a slightly red rimmed set of emerald green eyes, and he feels the shards of his heart splinter inside his chest all over again.  

 

They say seeing your ex for the first time after a break up is one of the most painful things imaginable. He assumes the ambiguous “ _they”_ in this situation have also experienced childbirth.  While he personally has not, Jughead can attest to agonizing responsiveness of standing 15 feet away from the love of your life whose heart you broke less than 72 hours ago. The feeling can only be likened to the beginning sequence in the movie _Scream_ , where Drew Barrymore’s boyfriend gets tied to a chair and sliced open across the middle. Intestines and organs spilling helplessly on the floor.

_Yes, that’s what this feels like._

He glances down to inspect that his innards are still intact, then lifts his eyes again to lock with hers.

They stand frozen for what feels like hours, unable to make a move in any direction. Until, In what appears to be the most awkward and cringe-worthy exchange in earth’s history, he lifts three fingers  from their position on his cross body satchel strap in a sort of half wave (dear God please let the Earth swallow him whole), to which she instinctively raises a small hand, fingers slightly curled, in response.

 

_Maybe this won’t be as horrible as it could be._

But because he IS Jughead Jones and the universe has never, even ONCE decided to cut him a break, the adolescent horde slowly regains mobility and Toni skirts into his peripheral vision.

“What’s up, Jones?”

Betty’s head cocks a fraction of an inch to the side like a bird with devastating curiosity and her face falls. He sees the moisture glaze her eyes and red splotches climb the side of her neck, a shade darker than the pink collar covering her skin.  

_GODDAMNIT!!!_

\-----

 

He raises his fingers in a subtle movement, a tiny white flag just for her, and she mirrors his intention. For the briefest of moments she feels a reprieve from the nightmare that was the last few days.

_Maybe today won’t be SO bad._

But because she IS Betty Cooper and the world is in constant competition with itself to see how miserable it can make her, a flash of pink hair and caramel skin come into view on his right side. The breath gets knocked out of her again. The unmistakable feeling of the rapid descent on a rollercoaster plays on repeat in her belly. Acid sloshes up her throat and she tries desperately to swallow it down.

Jughead follows her line of vision to the girl standing beside him and snaps his gaze back to hers. Glancing back and forth between the two in rapid succession, his eyes bulge wide and he shakes his head back and forth seemingly to convey the sentiment, _this isn’t what it looks like._

Betty slams her locker door closed in the biggest display of indignation she can muster, trying desperately to blink away the tears threatening to spill, and turns on her heel toward ladies room, leaving a bass-mouthed Kevin in her wake.

——-

 

“OH. MY. GOD. What the hell was that!?” Kevin rushes into the ladies room behind her, eliciting gasps from the remaining occupants.

“Oh come on ladies, like you’ve never seen a man in the women’s room before. Now if you’ll all be going, we are about to be in the middle of a private conversation and you are all interrupting.” He gestures to the exit with a flourish as the girls scurry through the door, locking it behind them.

“Ok. Spill, Aurora. What the hell did I just witness?”

“I don’t want to talk about it Kev.” Betty breathes out heavily as she braces both hands on the porcelain sink, glancing up at her reflection in the mirror.

God she really did look like shit.

“Well based on what I just saw, I can fill in the puzzle pieces. You and Edward Scissorhands got into a massive fight, I assume?”

“We broke up.” Letting out a sigh, she turns her body to stand facing him, arms folded across her chest.

“Again?!” The word comes out in such a high pitched shrill, she thinks it’s befitting that he’s in the ladies room with her right now.

Glaring, Betty raises her eyebrows in a _“seriously Kevin?!”_ tone, to which he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Ok. Ok. So what happened? Did you finally tell him that his sense of style is extremely derivative and not at all original like he thinks?” Catching her quirked eyebrow, he realizes this is not the time.

“Got cha. Not the situation for humor. My b. Well I’m sure whatever it is, can be fixed. He obviously looked heartbroken --“ Kevin gestures to the general direction behind him “-- and the boy has been in love with you since he was a zygote, so whatever happened --“ he places a comforting hand on her shoulder, “-- this too shall pass.”

“Thank you Kev.” She lets out a shuddered breath as the bell rings, signaling the end of this discussion and the beginning of what appears to be the second longest day of her life, next to Friday.

 

tbc

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? What did you think? This isn't where I wanted to end it, but I was just so ready to be done and post this chapter. Please comment with what you liked, didn't like, etc. I'd love to hear your opinions!
> 
> Lyrics from the beginning are from Afterglow by Juliander.


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